Six States of Shawn Spencer
by pathera
Summary: Six states of Shawn Spencer, as told by those closest to him.
1. Karen and Joy

A/N: Okay, I know that I haven't posted any Psych fics for a really long time, and those of you who are still waiting for that next chapter of _Smashed _or that sequel to _Intuition _are probably saying "what the hell is this?" However, this is a fic that I wrote back when Psych started and I just never posted, because I was having trouble finishing it. But I _finally _did finish it, so now I am posting it. There are six chapters which will all be posted within the week, and then this will be completed. For those of you who are still waiting, well...the next chapter of _Smashed _and I are having an epic battle to the death. We'll see who wins. The sequel to _Intuition _is planning a coupe to overthrow me, so we'll see how that turns out to. In the meantime, enjoy this one, and tell me how much you love it--or hate it--in a review!

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Six States of Shawn Spencer

_Told by Those Closest to Him_

I

_Karen and Joy_

It is hard for Karen to think of a time when Shawn is not happy. He seems to be in a perpetual state of happiness that she—and, it seems, everyone else—envies. There is this look in his eyes when he is happy; they seem to light up and capture all the light in the room. She sometimes thinks that Shawn Spencer's joy is brighter than the sun.

He seems happiest when he is around people: when he solves a case and bumps fists with Gus, when he finds some new way of getting under Lassiter's skin, when he wheedles Juliet into doing something she shouldn't. Karen has noticed that Shawn is rarely alone. When Gus isn't around he gravitates to the closet person he can find, whether they like him or not. It seems almost as though he can't stand the thought of being alone; his eyes dim and all the light goes out. But that rarely happens. Shawn doesn't let it happen.

When Gus wakes up after surgery Shawn comes careening out into the waiting room where the rest of them sit. His hair is a mess and he looks like he hasn't slept in a week, but there is a wide smile on his face; a smile, not a mere grin. Karen doesn't know that she has ever seen Shawn ever smile in pure joy before; since he's come into her world he has been full of shit-eating grins or smirks but never smiles that are as pure as this one.

Looking at Shawn Karen can't help but hope that the smile is transfixed on his face forever, because seeing someone that alive, that joyful makes the world seem a little less dark.


	2. Juliet and Anger

A/N: Thank you to my lovely reviewers and to those of you who put this or me on alert or your favorites! For some reason I'm not getting any emails from , because either my email is broken (possible), or is screwing up (again, possible). When it is fixed, however, I will be sure to respond to anyone who reviews. Thanks!

II

_Juliet and Anger_

Juliet had never seen Shawn angry before and she doesn't ever want to see him that way again. Shawn was a little like a hurricane in everything he did: he came in and swept you up in his grasp, tossing you and turning you and completely upending your world. Usually it was a good thing, but Shawn's hurricane included anger.

When the gun had gone off, when Gus had slumped to the ground, his blood quickly staining the pink shirt, Juliet had seen Shawn snap. There was a look in his eyes that sent shivers down her spine. As a cop she was used to being scared, but this absolutely terrified her. Shawn had launched himself at the gunman without a single thought for his own safety, and Juliet had been so sure that Shawn would join Gus on the ground with a bullet lodged in his stomach.

But Shawn didn't go sprawling to the ground. He wrestled the gun from the gunman and sent it flying, and then his fist connected with the man's face and stomach and whatever other part of his body he could hit. He didn't say anything; he was quiet and Juliet had never known Shawn to be quiet. She heard screaming though, and it took her a moment to realize it was her, screaming at him to stop.

Lassiter had yelled at her to call a bus, then jumped and pulled Shawn off of the gunman. He had hadn't gone quietly, his fists still flying and his legs kicking with an intent to cause great harm. He got a lucky shot on Lassiter, hitting him squarely in eye, and didn't even stop, though he surely knew. Lassiter tackled him to the floor, pinning him down and bellowing at him to stop. Juliet remembered the look in his eyes. Shawn's eyes were normally friendly and excited, shining and brilliant. But they were flat and dark, dangerous. He wanted blood.

Sitting in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, Juliet shivers and prays to God that Shawn will never have that look in his eyes again.


	3. Lassiter and Guilt

A/N: It's two for the price of one today, since I'm procrastinating on my homework. Enjoy the third chapter!

III

_Lassiter and Guilt_

Carlton Lassiter is the strong and silent type. Shawn Spencer is the exact opposite: still strong but certainly not silent. Never silent, never still, always bouncing around. Carlton is like coffee black, strong and bitter; Shawn is like coffee with all the fixings, one sip will have you bouncing off the walls. But Shawn isn't bouncing off the walls in the waiting room, in fact, he's hardly moving at all. Carlton is on the other side of the room from him, at a perfect vantage point for observation. The side of his face is swelling and purple from where Shawn hit him, and while Carlton would normally be angry it doesn't even cross his mind this time.

Every once in a while Shawn's leg will jerk as if he is spasm, then it will cease and the man will return to his state of relative motionlessness. The only real movement he makes is a fiddling with something in his lap that Carlton can't see. Karen isn't there, she had to leave to take care of the gunman's booking, but she promised to return later; Henry isn't their either, though he was earlier. Henry had stormed past him, towards the exit leaving Shawn behind. Juliet is giving Shawn strange, almost scared looks, which Carlton partly understands. Shawn was frightening when he was angry, but Carlton was more frightened by his placid state now. Normally he would be harassing someone: a doctor, a nurse, _him_; but Shawn does nothing. His gaze is fixed on the ground and he does not look up.

With a sigh, wondering what the hell he is doing, Carlton stands and walks over, taking the seat next to the younger man. From his closer perspective he realizes that Shawn isn't fiddling with something in his lap; he is wringing his hands. He looks up when Carlton sits next to him, then returns his gaze to the floor as soon as he knows who it is.

"Sorry about your face, Lassiter." Normally there would have been an insult in there, or some form of a joke. But his voice was flat and dull, serious in a way that Carlton didn't know Shawn Spencer could be. And he says 'Lassiter' instead of Lassi or Lass or whatever strange new form of nickname that he comes up with next. The name sounds strange to Carlton; he expects the nickname, even enjoys it. To not hear it means that Shawn Spencer is most definitely not okay.

"Are you okay, Spencer?" It isn't like Carlton to ask, but he can't not. He won't admit it to anyone but he likes Shawn. The man amuses him, and he does good casework even though he insists on continuing the psychic charade. He makes life livelier, and Carlton is never bored around him. It is nice to have someone around who doesn't either fear, greatly respect, or hero-worship him.

Shawn doesn't look up. "Yeah. I'm fine. I punched a detective, scared a girl that I really like, and got my best friend shot. What could be wrong?" His voice is bitter, loathing, and Carlton realizes what he is seeing for the first time.

Guilt.

Carlton realizes that he has never seen Shawn Spencer guilty before. Even when he was lying and Carlton knew he was lying—like every time he pulled his damn psychic bit—there was not a trace of guilt on Shawn's face. Even when he went too far and people got angry at him he was only ever sorry, but not guilty. He apologized and Carlton was sure he meant it, but there wasn't guilt in him. Carlton didn't know that Shawn even felt guilt.

"Spen—Shawn. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known…."

Shawn cracks his knuckles methodically, his eyes still on the ground. "I should have known. The signs were all there: the door slightly ajar, the carpet messed up, the slight dirt treads, it was all there and I should have known!" Carlton's eyebrows rise.

"What are you talking about?" Shawn's eyes flicker up for a moment.

"Cut the crap Lassi. You know I'm not psychic. I should have known. I wasn't paying attention, and if I had been I would have known he was there, I would have pulled back. Except I probably wouldn't have because I'm so stupid!" He kicked violently at the table in front of him. Carlton falls silent, his expression serious. Shawn has just confessed that he isn't psychic. Carlton could throw him in jail right now if he wanted to. But he doesn't want to, so he'll just pretend that he never heard a word of Shawn's confession.

Carlton Lassiter isn't good with comforting people. That's Juliet's part of the job, but with Juliet freaked out the task falls to him. "Okay Shawn. Yes, you should have known." Shawn looks up, his eyes shadowed and hurt. "You should have known, and so should have I, so should have Juliet. We should have known better to let you in to an unsecured crime scene; the two of you should have known better than to go in without letting us secure it. We all made mistakes, Shawn. We're all to blame. But it isn't your fault any more than it is my fault or Juliet's fault. It's the gunman's fault. So stop blaming anyone other than him."

Shawn looks down again, avoiding his gaze, and Carlton sighs. "It is not your fault, Shawn. It is not, understand me?" He feels almost like he is talking to a child. "I don't care that you hit me, because I would have done the same. Juliet will get over being scared. And Gus will absolutely forgive you. So stop beating yourself up."

Shawn looks up and doesn't try to hide. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn't slept in days rather than a matter of hours, and he looks like he is about to cry. Carlton lays his hand on the younger man's shoulder. His guilt is written on his face. "We all screwed up Shawn. But it is not your fault." He puts special emphasis on each word. "Not your fault."

Shawn leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. "All right Lassi. All right."

Carlton sighs and settles into his seat. For the moment, for his sake and Shawn's, he isn't going anywhere.


	4. Henry and Helplessness

A/N: Welcome to chapter four, everyone! Today is going to be another two for the price of one day, since I'm done my classes for the day and I don't want to work on my philosophy paper. I actually completely revamped this chapter today, after re-reading it. I fixed some tense errors that I had, but more importantly, I actually changed the emotion that this one deals with. Originally the emotion was vulnerability, but I realized that I wasn't saying what I wanted to say and I think this makes it a little bit clearer. I'm sorry if Henry comes off as a jerk, and I know that I tend to display him as more of an antagonist, but I think there are so many communication problems between Shawn and Henry that they really don't know how to react to each other. Anyway, here you go! And **pdljmpr6, **you are about to find out why Henry stormed away, so enjoy. Thank you to all of my reviewers! I'll stop talking now...

Disclaimer: I've stopped putting these, haven't I? Well, nothing has changed from the first chapter to the fourth. I still don't own it.

IV.

_Henry and Helplessness_

When Henry gets the call he takes off for the hospital. He knows that his son needs him and he wants to be there for Gus too. He sees Gus as his second son, the more responsible one that is flawed only by his lack of spine when it comes to telling Shawn 'no'. He gets into the hospital and sees Shawn crumpled in a chair in the waiting room. He is alone; Lassiter, O'Hara, and Vick are nowhere to be seen, though presumably they are there somewhere. Shawn's face is buried into his hands and his shoulders are shaking; Henry knows that he is crying.

As a father Henry knows that he should go over and sit down, place a comforting hand on his son's shoulder and murmur comforting words about how everything will be okay. But as a cop, even a retired one, Henry wants nothing more than to lunge forwards and shake the answers out of Shawn. What happened? Whose fault was it? What did Shawn do? The only way Henry knows how to deal with things is the cop way, so he marches over to Shawn.

Shawn looks up at the approaching footsteps, his face wet and his nose running. He looks terrible and Henry feels a pang of sympathy. He has seen that expression on his son's face before, the one of helplessness, the one that screams for someone to hug him and tell him 'I'll take care of it'. It's the expression that speaks of his complete inability to cope with the world right at that moment.

And it makes Henry angry.

That helpless expression on his son's face, that look in his green eyes that speaks volumes of how the world has spiraled out of control, makes Henry angry, for some inexpressible reason. He doesn't know if he is angry at himself, for not being able to help, or angry at Shawn, for not being able to handle things, or perhaps not even angry at all, but terrified and just as helpless as Shawn is.

Shawn takes one look at his father, sees something in his expression, and recoils. "What happened Shawn?" Henry's voice brokers no nonsense. He doesn't want any excuses; he wants answers.

"Gus was shot." Shawn says, the words hushed as if he doesn't want to say them louder and thus admit that they are real.

"Clearly. But what happened?"

Shawn looks down, an act of guilt that sends Henry reeling back into memories of a much younger Shawn who hadn't yet learned how to lie convincingly. "Shawn!" He growls out, just as he would have to younger Shawn. His son reacts the same way now as he did then, jumping, his eyes shooting up. Shawn's mouth twists bitterly.

"I screwed up. I wasn't paying attention to the signs and…he was waiting behind a couch. Lassiter and Juliet were right behind us and I knew he was there but I didn't know where and I didn't know he was armed. He popped up before I could even shout; I tried to push Gus down but he'd already been shot. I jumped the guy, knocked the gun out of his hands, started beating the shit out of him. Lassiter tackled me." Shawn's voice is flat, as if he is rattling off a grocery list rather than a bone-chilling account of his near death. Henry nearly shudders. Shawn had come so close to being the one laying in a hospital bed with a bullet in his side.

And that thought, the thought that Shawn could have been fighting for his life, the thought that he could have been here in the waiting room, just as helpless as Shawn is now, further galvanizes Henry's anger.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Henry asks, voice loud. Shawn looks almost betrayed and Henry knows why but he can't stop.

"I wasn't," he says. The answer aggravates Henry and he just wants to grab his son by the collar and shake him around a bit.

"You weren't," Henry agrees, hostile. Shawn wraps his arms around himself.

"You know what Dad? I'm really not in the mood to deal with you."

"You're the one who called me, bud."

"I called you because I thought you might know a thing or two about what it feels like to sit and find out whether or not a friend is going to survive or not feels like. I forgot that you're the tin man, the man without a heart."

Henry's lips press tightly together. "Clean up your own messes, Shawn. Stop coming crying to me when the walls collapse around your ears." He turns on his heel and stalks away, blowing right past a drained looking Lassiter without a word. He doesn't see Shawn bite his lip and stare after him with teary eyes; he doesn't see Shawn's head sink down into his hands again. He doesn't see Shawn sink into his most helpless state, caught by the real world and forced to face facts.

He doesn't see, because he can't stand the sight of someone so strong suddenly so helpless. And he can't stand to admit that he is just as helpless as Shawn.


	5. Gus and Grief

A/N: Hello again! Welcome to the fifth chapter of _Six States. _There is only one more chapter to go, which will be posted tomorrow at some point. If the flow of this chapter seems a little bit off, I'm sorry. In the original version of this--written way back in the first season--I had Shawn's mother dying, because we never really knew what happened to her and I took artistic license. However, now that she appeared back on the scene, I felt that this chapter needed a revamp, and thus we have what you are about to read. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: It's on my Christmas wish list, but I'm pretty sure I'll only get the first season on DVD and not the actual characters.

V.

_Gus and Grief_

Gus can remember only a few times when his best friend has cried. Most of the times were small events: when his dog was hit by a car, when his hamster escaped and was never seen again, when Gus had told him that he hated him. But Gus has only seen Shawn in a true state of grief once and it is one of those states that he never wants to see Shawn in again.

It hadn't always been Gus and Shawn. Once there had been another member of their crew, another friend, one that they didn't talk about anymore, one named Alex. There was a car accident, the night of his death. Shawn, sitting in the back-seat, was relatively unharmed. Alex died on impact.

A fourteen-year old Shawn had climbed out of his window that night after he got home from the hospital and showed up at Gus' house around midnight. Normally Shawn's late night visits included climbing through Gus' bedroom window, but this time Shawn marched right up the front door and rang the door bell. A confused Mr. Guster opened the door, and Gus, upon catching sight of his friend, hurried to see what was going on.

Gus remembers that Shawn's face was paler than he had thought possible. He looked like a vampire, like the living dead, and he looked so tired. He had a bruise and a cut on his face; his left arm was bandaged. He wasn't crying and at first he didn't even make a sound.

"Shawn?" Mr. Guster had said. "What are you doing here?" Shawn had looked straight through Gus' father, fixing his gaze on a blank part of the wall. Then his pale, chapped lips had moved silently. "Shawn?"

Shawn's eyes focused and he smiled at Mr. Guster and Gus. It was a painful smile and Gus can visualize it without even trying. "I'm sorry to wake you." He said, in an almost normal tone, as if it was high noon and he was coming over for tea and crumpets.

Gus' mom tottered down the stairs and took one look at Shawn. She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. "Shawn, dear, what's wrong?" Gus remembers that Shawn's lower lip trembled. Gus had never seen it do that before.

"He's gone," he whispered. Gus took a step back, his mother took a step forwards.

"Who, Shawn?" He looked up at her and the tears started to slide down his face.

"Alex. He's dead. He's dead. He's dead." He repeated, as if the news was finally settling in. Gus remembers that his skin was so, so pale, and so cold to the touch. He remembers that Shawn dissolved into a puddle of tears and choking sobs, slumping to his knees in the middle of the kitchen floor, with all three Gusters surrounding him. Mrs. Guster knelt beside him and held him close as he screamed and thrashed and cursed everything. Gus sat with his back against one of the cabinets, his eyes closed and his throat tight as he tried not to cry and failed miserably. He cried with his friend, cried for Alex, and even more, he cried for Shawn. He locked hands with his friend, his thumb running over the back of Shawn's hand over and over again, the only thing that he could think to do.

The next morning they did not speak of what had happened, though Shawn avoided Gus' eye. When a grim-faced Henry Spencer arrived shortly after nine to pick up his son Gus pulled Shawn into a bear-hug and held onto him for dear life. Shawn let him, and if his own grip was just as tight he did not mention it.

Gus can remember that Shawn shut down for weeks after the death, laughing and smiling only grudgingly. Gus dedicated those weeks to healing his friend, to ensuring that Shawn's grief did not sustain any longer than necessary, because it hurt to see Shawn like that. Seeing Shawn like that hurt almost more than Alex's death did. And he swore that, if he could spare Shawn from ever feeling grief like that again, he would.

Gus has seen people get shot on television and has seen the results of a gunshot wound, but he is still not prepared for the slam of it as the bullet tears through his skin and nerves. He does not expect all the air to be forced from his lungs, does not expect to feel like he is drowning. He expects a growing blackness around the edges or a bright, white light; he gets neither. Instead he gets pain and the sight of Shawn's worried face over him as he loses consciousness.

As he fades into unconsciousness Gus remembers Shawn's grief and knows that he will be fine, because he can't break his vow to himself. He has to be okay, so that Shawn can be okay. There is no other option, and the thought is oddly comforting as the world spins around him and suddenly slips away.


	6. Shawn and Fear

A/N: Aaaaaand, Chapter six is here. Welcome to the final chapter of this little fic. I have to say that I am actually really proud of this, because this is the first actual fic I have posted that is longer than two chapters and completed. It's exciting, and hopefully it is a sign that I will be completing (and posting) more fics in the future. I have such a problem with procrastination and writer's block, but this is a promising sign for the future. Thank you to all of my awesome reviewers for letting me know what you thought! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Is this even necessary?

VI.

_Shawn and Fear_

Shawn doesn't admit to fear. He hates it, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the burn in the back of his throat, the shaking of his limbs, the feeling that his world has just been upended. He can't stand fear, but more than that he can't stand to admit when he's afraid. Its weakness, and years with Henry Spencer has taught him that weakness cannot and will not be tolerated.

Shawn has policy of showing no dark emotions. He does not show fear or grief or nervousness, not when he has another option, not when he can hide it. But Shawn can't hide right now. He's too overwhelmed to even care.

He had never been more scared in his entire life than that moment when the bullet slammed into Gus, knocking him to the floor. Seeing the blood well up and spread across the coral pink fabric of Gus's shirt, Shawn thought he would just collapse. He was shaking all over, shaking in the very core of his being.

The anger came then, but it was drawn from necessity, because he could stand the anger and the burning hatred where he could not stand the fear that overwhelmed him, that made him incapable of functioning. The anger pushed the fear back, filling him with adrenaline. But when it faded, when the shooter was in custody and whisked away, the anger left and the fear came back, even stronger, even more forceful, with such a hold on Shawn that he didn't think he could even walk.

He remembers staring at Gus, at the blood and his friend's ashy complexion in wordless horror, willing him to wake up and be okay. When the paramedics came they pushed him out of the way and Lassiter and Juliet pulled him away but he stayed close, shaking and feeling sick and watching as the paramedics worked to stop the bleeding, worked to keep Gus alive. The guilt would come later, it would roar over him and attack him, but the fear was the most prominent thing.

When he was nine he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. Shawn remembers the falling sensation, remembers knowing that he was going to hit the ground and it was going to hurt, and he remembers screaming and remembers the desperation and how he was terrified as he was falling. Until the doctor tells him that Gus is going to be fine it felt like he was falling and screaming and now one could hear him. Even when he looks at Gus and his friend smiles weakly up at him he can feel the weakness in his knees, the Jell-O feeling in his legs.

He doesn't ever want to feel that way again. He doesn't think that he can stand every feeling that way again, like his heart has been plucked from his chest and squeezed, like his lungs won't inflate.

"Gus?" He says, when the room is quiet and they are alone. His friend is sitting up, his eyes closed and his head tilted back. He wakes from an almost sleep and turns his head to look at him. He doesn't speak, just waits. "Gus, I don't want to do this anymore. I quit."

Gus sighs and reaches an arm out towards Shawn, wincing. Shawn's eyes widen and he leaps from his seat, grabbing Gus' arm and pushing it back towards his friend's body. "What are you doing?" He practically shouts, remembering at the last second to keep his voice lower so as not to bring someone into the room.

"Trying to slap some sense into you."

Shawn falls silent. He feels himself shaking and he can't quite get control of himself.

"Shawn, you are not quitting."

"Yes I am, Gus." He says, looking down. "I can't do this anymore."

"You know, Shawn, whenever things get tough you run. But this psychic thing hasn't been easy, and you haven't given up yet. This is the longest you've ever held a job, and this is the first time I've ever seen you really happy. Really content. You can do this, Shawn, and you are going to. You aren't going to give up and run away again because you made one mistake."

"Gus, you got shot!" He says, looking up.

Gus rolls his eyes. "You think I don't know that? I know, Shawn. I know I got shot. I know that you blame yourself too, because I know you. But you can't blame yourself. I don't want you to blame yourself. And I don't want you to run. I want you to stay. I want you to keep doing this, because it makes you happy."

Shawn looks down again. "You getting shot doesn't make me happy, Gus. I can't keep putting you in danger. What if next time its worse? What if—."

"Don't you dare start playing the 'what if?' game with me, Shawn Henry Spencer!" Shawn winces. "You have not ever cared about 'what ifs' and you are not going to start now, understand me? And you are not quitting. There has never been a job better suited to you, Shawn. This is what you are meant to do. I have sat by and watched you run and jump from job to job for years, Shawn, and I'm not letting it happen this time."

Shawn looks up, desperate. "Gus…."

"No, Shawn." Gus's eyes soften. "I know you were scared." Shawn would try to deny it, but the look in Gus' eyes says everything. "I was scared too. But Shawn, we can't live in fear. And you can't quit every time you get scared."

Shawn bends in half, resting his forehead on the edge of Gus' cot. Gus' hand strokes his head softly, in a purely comforting way.

"Do you know what you've got here, Shawn? You've got me, you've got a job you love, you've got the police force behind you, you've got the Chief, you've got Lassi, and you've got Jules. You've got too much to leave behind Shawn."

"I know." Shawn says. "I know but…." He looks up. "Gus, you have no idea how scared I was."

Gus smiles. "I know, Shawn. But we've just got to get through it."

"Together?"

"Together."

Shawn thinks that, for Gus, he can conquer his fears. For Gus and for Lassi, for Jules and for the Chief, he can stick around. He sits beside Gus' bed and lets go of the fear, because, for the moment, it doesn't matter anymore.


End file.
